Certainty
by Violetrose25
Summary: Clint/OC. Clint always knew he'd end up with a redhead. It was his certainty, the one detail he knew about his soul mate. He thought it was Natasha, had for years, but she fell in love with Bruce Banner. And it crushed him. Now he's met a wonderful woman named Joyce... But she's not the redhead he's looking for. (More details inside. M for smut. I own nothing. Slight AU.)
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is a universe in which everybody knows a small detail about their soulmate. I know the "soul mate" thing has been done before, but here's my take on it. It seems there's always something definite about these types of stories. Like they'll know it's the one by the touch of their hand or it's written down somewhere... I like the idea that's there's an aspect of uncertainty to it. You get a clue, but when it gets down to it, one has to go with their gut.**

**Anyway I'm rambling... hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

Clint always knew that he was going to end up with a redhead. That was his certainty. Everybody had one, no matter where or who they were. Just a vague clue about their soul mate. And the funny thing was that gender didn't matter. Most people's certainties apply to both men and women. So you don't even get _that_ much information! The universe has a sick sense of humor.

But Clint considered himself lucky. He was sure that his certainty belonged to Natahsa Romanoff, his partner in Shield. The feisty Russian who never had faith in love, even with her certainty. That certainty being that her soul mate would save her life.

Clint had been waiting patiently for years, hoping she'd see that he was the one. Clint had made a different call, after all. But she never had. She still believed love was for children, and certainties were some kind of sick joke.

... Then New York happened. And she met Dr. Bruce Banner, who saved her from a deadly infection caused by one of those...things... with their disgusting, alien-disease ravaged mouths. Needless to say, Dr. Banners' certainty was that his soul mate wouldn't believe in love. Of fucking course, right?

Now here he was, the lonely archer, still pining over that one redhead. That redhead who's been madly in love with the good doctor for about six months now. She'd changed completely! It'd been torture, really, especially since all the Avengers now lived in Stark Tower. If they weren't training, working, or sleeping, the two would be all over each other. Groping, kissing... mornings when Natasha would walk around with Bruce's shirts on...

Clint was about to kill somebody. He had to get out. The archer took the elevator down, planning on going to Starbucks. Because if there was one thing that a person could count on, it was coffee. And as everybody over the age of thirteen knows, coffee powers the entire adult world. Luckily he didn't run into anybody on the way down, and walked speedily into the crowd. The walk wasn't far, only ten blocks, though the snow wasn't helping. December was a bitch in New York.

Finally he reached the coffee shop, that familiar green logo inviting him in. Clint obliged, all but sprinting into the warmth. The scent of peppermint mocha lattes and hot chocolate permeated the air. Ah, home. Immediately Clint got in line, not wanting to wait an hour for a damn drink! It was crowded in here, but it's not like that was anything new. Starbucks had that ability to fill every seat in and out of the shop.

Sometimes he was convinced that the real evil didn't lie within terrorist groups like Hydra or Al Queda, no. REAL evil came from corporations like Starbucks, plotting to take over the world with their shops incessantly popping up everywhere like a goddamn virus. Some weird conspiracy that everybody else was oblivious to. Except Clint Barton.

Not like that stopped the assassin from buying the coffee like everybody else.

He ordered a caramel latte, waited, and snagged the last available table. He smiled into the drink as people began complaining, whining about the cold and the crowds and the pretentious douchebags just sitting there with their laptops, pretending to be writers, not actually drinking anything. Clint found this extremely amusing. That was another reason he loved it here. People were just so entertaining.

And then... she walked in. A bright purple coat immediately caught Clint's attention. A woman was standing there, baggy jeans and boots and a heavy knit black scarf. Her hands were covered by baby blue gloves. There was a hat covering her hair, one with the little tassels on the sides and a fur ball on top. Neon. Fucking. Yellow. She had pale skin, freckles dusting her cheeks. Eyes as blue as her gloves, and full lips. Well... not Natasha full... but full. Bow-shaped.

Once she got in line, Clint went back to drowning his sorrows in coffee. It sounds strange, yes, but it was better than getting shit-faced twenty four hours a day. Besides, what if he was called on duty? How would THAT fly with Coulson?!

A few minutes later, Clint heard the sound of a clearing throat. He looked up. There she was.

"Hi, uh... can I sit with you? This place is crowded as fuck and there aren't any seats left."

Clint shrugged. "Go for it."

The woman plopped down in the opposing seat.

"Thanks. So... my name's Joyce. Joyce Rivers."

Before Clint could even get a word in, Joyce spoke:

"Swear to God, no relation. What's your name, Hawkeye?"

The archer looked up, incredibly surprised. "Huh? How did you know about that?!"

"You don't exactly wear a mask, y'know. Plus this is the 21st century, nothing is sacred. The power of the Internet!" She said dramatically.

"Still... I didn't think I was the most... popular Avenger. You don't exactly see kids running around with Hawkeye action figures."

Joyce giggled. "Well exactly, KIDS. Women love you. The Hawkeye Initiative is going strong."

"The WHAT?"

Her eyes darted back and forth. "Nothing." She quickly changed the subject. "So, what's a superhero doing sitting in a coffee shop? Shouldn't you be off fighting crime, robbing the rich to give to the poor?"

"That's Robinhood, for one."

She smiled. "I know, I'm teasing."

"-And secondly, despite what most people may think, us superhero's lead normal lives. I mean what do you people think we do all day?!"

Joyce took a sip of her drink. "Have giant, mostly homosexual orgies."

Clint stopped mid-sip. "Uh..."

"Internet. Looked up message boards about you all out of boredom."

"Now I'm scared." The hero stated earnestly.

"You should be, us civilians can be some sick-minded motherfuckers." She replied, agreeing. "However, that doesn't answer my question."

"Your question?"

"What's your name?" Josie clarified.

"Oh! Uh... Clint. Clint Barton." The archer was a bit embarrassed by his own stupidity.

"Clint Barton. Huh. So is it true that you crawl around in the vents of Stark Tower?"

The archer set his drink down. "Oh my God, Tony actually let that get to the reporters?!"

"So it's true?" Joyce asked.

"NO! He just spread that rumor to be a dick. It's what he does."

"You gonna get back at him?"

Clint shrugged. "Maybe. I'll have to think of something."

"Well... if you want... I can help you."

"Can you?"

She nodded fervently. "Yeah, totally. I was a huge prankster as a kid. That was my thing."

"What's your 'thing' now. What do you do?"

"I'm a Victoria's secret model." She said with a straight face.

"Is that a joke?" Clint asked, the words coming out of his mouth before he could filter his thoughts.

"Nope. Hand to God."

"Seriously?"

She suddenly began laughing. Laughing profusely. "NO! Of course not! I'm a waitress. I'm on my lunch break, an I figured coffee might do me some good. Actually..."

She looked at her watch. "I should be heading back. It was nice to meet you, Clint Barton."

"Maybe we can meet here again sometime?" He asked. "Plan that revenge prank on Stark?"

She smiled brightly. "I'd like that. Maybe tomorrow?"

He nodded.

"Great! Same time as today. See you then."

Clint watched as she exited the restaurant, taking off her hat to reveal a flood of... black hair?

"Damn it." He said under his breath.

He just didn't get a break, did he?

AUTHORS NOTE: HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED! SORRY IF THIS WASN'T GOOD OR ANYTHING. STILL, THANKS FOR READING!


	2. Chapter 2

Joyce was tired. Tired, frustrated, and unhappy. What else was she supposed to feel? She hated her job. The boss, Mr. Jimson, worked her like a slave, always using her to do all the odd jobs. She had to sweep/mop the whole floor, clean the tables, wipe down the counter, plus the waitressing. And of course the fact that he was a dirty, disgusting pervert wasn't a big help either. Always grabbing her ass, tits, whatever he could get his grubby hands on.

Oh, and all the other waitresses hated her. Why? Well probably it was because of her little problem. The one that she tries to keep to herself, but everybody notices eventually. But let's not talk about that. Besides, Joyce wasn't one to sit on the pity pot for too long, not anymore.

Her life wasn't all that bad, anyway. She had a job and an apartment and money to put food on the table, which is more than a shitload of people in this big blue ball have. Besides, she had a new reason to be happy. A new reason to smile. Because a week ago Joyce met a handsome guy at a Starbucks, a handsome guy that happened to save the world. Or at least helped save it.

Speaking of which, Joyce was going to meet him right... about... NOW. 12:35.

Grabbing her coat, she practically sprinted out the door. It was about five or so minutes to get to her destination, but to her the walk felt like a fucking hour. But once she got there to see the blonde already holding two mocha peppermint lattes, Joyce was grinning from ear to ear.

"Hey!" She called, running across the street.

Clint waved his cup of coffee. "Hey Joyce! How's waitressing going?"

"Fine, it's boring as usual. How's superheroing?"

"Superheroing?"

"Well... yeah."

"That's not a word."

"But it describes what you do, am I right? Waitressing is a word, and it describes being a waitress. Why can't the word superhero apply to the same rule?" Joyce asked.

"Probably because it just sounds plain stupid."

"So now I'm stupid?" Joyce pouted out her lip, pretending to cry. "You wound me!"

"You're a smartass, you know that?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, it's common knowledge."

He chuckled. "Glad the public is aware. So, do you want to go inside or do you wanna freeze?"

"Let's freeze! We could just stand here in funny poses while people wonder what the hell we're doing."

"Let's not."

"Aw, but it'd be fun!" Joyce pouted dramatically.

Clint shook his head, taking his new friend by the hand and leading her inside. It was crowded as usual, and there were literally no tables in sight. Not that it mattered to either of them, it was just nice to be in the warmth. The two stood in the least crowded corner to talk in relative peace.

"You what we haven't done yet?" Joyce asked.

"What?"

"We haven't discussed that prank on Stark for spreading rumors about you!"

Clint snorted. "You were being serious?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

"But we're adults." He pointed out.

"Sure. Sure we are." She said dismissively.

"Are you implying something, Joyce?"

She smiled. "Just that we put too much stock into this whole 'adulthood' concept. I mean, physically we're grown, but our minds? Let's face it, we're all just giant ass children on the inside."

Clint took a sip of his latte, crossing his arms. "And what makes you say that?"

"Think about it. We all get a kick out of nasty, disgusting things just like we did as kids. Only instead of snot and slime, it's all blood and guts and death. We seem to need to find increasingly creative ways to make things go boom, everybody knows that. And we all love the idea of revenge. We as a society pretend to be more sophisticated, but really, everybody just found less overt ways to indulge in our child-like desires."

The assassin nodded, taking this in. "So if by pulling a prank on Tony Stark, we're just being more honest than most people?"

"Yes."

"... You seem to have a way with words, Joyce. Ever think of going into politics? You could persuade a crowd to do anything."

She just threw her head back and laughed. "No, no... I have a soul."

Clint almost spit out his coffee. "You can't a soul to go into politics?"

"I think that's requirement number one." Joyce replied.

"Oh my god, Joyce. You're... something."

"I'm something? What kind of something? Do you think I'm one of those lizard people the conspiracy nuts are going on about?"

"No, no. As a member of a top secret organization that happens to deal with alien life, I can assure you there are no lizard people."

Joyce gave him a mock-suspicious look. "What kind of people ARE there?"

"Classified."

"Is that an answer I'm going to be getting a lot of when I'm around you?"

"Yes." He answered simply. "Yes it is."

"Well where's the fun in THAT?! Secrets are meant to be told, Clint!"

"Not gonna happen."

"What if I started calling you 'Clit' Barton until you spill some government info?"

He shook his head. "I've been called worse than that."

"Like what?"

He took another sip of his drink. "... Classified."

"You dick!"

"I thought I was a clit."

"... Shut up."

"Great come back."

"Damn right!" Joyce practically shouted, several people turning to look at her. "Now, about that prank."

Clint rolled his eyes. "You're still on that?"

"Yes. Yes I am. Come on, it'd be so fun!"

He sighed, giving in. "What'd you have in mind?'

"Nude pictures. We post them all over the internet-"

"He'd pose for them himself." Clint dissented.

"We get him really drunk and-"

"He does that without our help.."

Joyce took a minute to think. "We spread a rumor that he's gay."

"I think every news station, blog, and obscure website has beaten you to the punch."

"Okay then. What do YOU suggest?"

"It's your idea. You come up with something."

"Then stop shooting down all my ideas!" Joyce exclaimed, throwing out her hands.

Suddenly the time on her watch caught her attention. 1:26. Shit. SHIT. SHIT!

"Fuck me, I gotta go!"

"Fuck you? We haven't really known each other for that long..."

"Shut up, Clit. I'm serious. I have to get back. But this conversation isn't over!"

Clint smiled. "Whatever you say. But Joyce?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe we could meet at a different place? Y'know... like a restaurant?"

Joyce smiled. "I'd like that."

"Or maybe you could come back to the tower and annoy Tony in person."

She chuckled. "See ya later, Clint."

"See ya later."

And with that, she left. Clint smiled. He didn't know why he decided to keep meeting her here. Maybe it was that eccentric personality, or because she really WAS beautiful, or... whatever. He liked Joyce. Maybe she wouldn't be the one, but she could be a good friend. One of the few... okay the ONLY, one who happened to not be a murderer in some shape or form.

He finished his coffee, heading back to the tower to deal with another twenty four hours of... well... the others. Their personalities spoke for themselves.

AUTHORS' NOTE: THANKS FOR READING! HOPE YOU ALL LIKED! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT I NEED TO IMPROVE ON OR IF I WAS OUT OF CHARACTER. I'M JUST NOT USED TO WRITING ABOUT CLINT. HE'S KIND OF A MYSTERY. STILL, THANK YOU AGAIN!

:)


	3. Chapter 3

Clint was having a rough night. Well... he usually has rough nights. Sleep didn't come easily to the poor, guilt-ridden agent. Every time he closed his eyes, Clint saw the faces of the people he killed. Many of them were innocent, just poor bastards who got caught up in the middle of things. There wasn't a day that went by that one of their images didn't pass through his head.

And the dreams... good god the dreams. Clint remembered the feeling of Tesseracts' control over him. It was... he was like a puppet. The body was a puppet, mouth spewing information to the enemy on command. Mind giving out ideas on how to kill everybody he held dear. And it wasn't just the fact that this feeling was remembered... no, no. It was the amount of clarity with which the memories that went along with it had. Clint could recite every detail of his conversations with Loki, and could say every way he betrayed his beloved Natasha.

The most horrible ways to kill her, and the truth about her past. Clint had even told the god about his love for her, how he thought she was his certainty. And the horrid, plotting smile on Loki's face haunted Clint's mind like a rancid mist.

The archer tried to sleep. Really he did. But it was becoming more and more difficult. It wasn't just Natasha he betrayed. It was the whole goddamn SHIELD team. Coulson, his handler and dear friend. Fury, the director and protector of the Earth behind the scenes. Maria Hill, the loyal and loving Agent. And yet he had no scruples with nearly murdering them all in cold blood.

... Makes for one hell of a case for Insomnia, doesn't it?

After that horrid spell was broken, everybody kept telling him that it wasn't his fault. 'Don't do that to yourself', Natasha said. She didn't know what he'd done. What he'd said. Everybody treated him with sympathy, in some degree. Even Fury. Coulson, after his recovery, suggested that Clint talk to somebody. A therapist. But that's not what he needed. Clint knew himself.

What he needed wasn't sympathy, or empathy, or special treatment... no. What Clint needed was what he deserved. To be kicked out of SHIELD. Dishonorably discharged. Shunned by all the other Avengers. Because what he'd done was inexcusable. Spell or no spell.

Perhaps that's why he hasn't found his certainty. Because he doesn't deserve it. That would make sense, if you believed in Karma. Clint wasn't sure what he believed. Well... he believed in something. But he didn't know what that something was. But all that existential, lofty thinking is beside the point. Maybe that's why the only woman Clint has actually gotten along with, one person he could have a 'normal' conversation with, she wasn't his. I mean, it's not like he was in love with her or anything, it was too early for that and this wasn't a Disney movie. But...

You know, after having his heart crushed for the woman he was already in love with, a little hope would be nice. But he didn't deserve it. But it's nothing to cry about. So what if he had PTSD? So what if he had nightmares? So fucking WHAT if he couldn't sleep?! That's just how things work. You can't change the rules. It's just life.

... Even if life is a bitch.

* * *

Joyce, in her small Brooklyn apartment, woke up in her bed, gasping. Sweating. Helpless tears pouring down her face. This happened more often than not, now a days. It's funny how things work like that. When you're younger, memories are easy to repress and store away in that little file we all have in the back of our mind. You know that file. It's the one you see after you pass Happy Nostalgia, and take a right at Emotional Triggers.

The one labeled: "BAD SHIT! KEEP OUT!" You know, it's like the Demon-Summoning spell book from all those horror movies that you KNOW you shouldn't read but you do anyway because curiosity just keeps creeping up on you.

That was the one that had Joyce drenched in various forms of bodily water. She tried to tune it out. But... after so many years, the trauma just seemed to sneak its way back in to her mind. And the constant, deep, mind numbing emptiness in her heart.

Joyce stood up. Sleep was just out of the question at this point. She trudged across the soft carpet in her room and into the bathroom. Hot water. She needed hot water. Turning the shower on, Joyce waited patiently for the heat to reach her satisfaction. Water pounded out of the spout. Joyce liked the sound. It reminded her of heavy rain.

The bathroom was a cloud of steam. Joyce embraced the near boiling heat. It was soothing. And it was punishment. This was the only punishment Joyce allowed herself anymore.

It was her fault. It was all her fault. No matter what the police had said, what the psychiatrists drilled into Joyce's mind... She remembered that look on her parents faces... twin expressions. The one that dissented from all these claims of innocence. Joyce was to blame.

Another memory, synonymous with that one, creeped in. This one was worse because it was happy. Bright blue eyes. They're always blue when you're a kid, right? A smile. It was summer break. Laughing of course. They were talking about starting middle school. It was a late night, they were eating popcorn. Watching something Joyce couldn't remember.

She slid to the floor. Joyce remembered blood. Drenched in blood, that lifeless body. So much red. So much pain. It was only here, late at night, that she cried. During the day it was just a matter of putting on her 'Everything's OK' smile. Nobody had to know. Of course her little secret, the one that shows... everybody had to see it eventually. She dreaded the day when her new friend saw it. What would he think of her then?

For now she had to cover it up as best she could. Besides, it was winter, it should be easy to hide. Joyce got out of the shower, feeling sufficiently punished. There were red hot streaks down her back. They'd be gone tomorrow, but that was okay.

She crawled back into bed. Joyce tried to focus on something else besides memories. Or maybe she could take some Ambien. Either way, either way. Tomorrow she could spend an hour with Clint. That was the one time Joyce could sufficiently forget all the pain... just have some fun for a change. Because, for some reason, he was able to do that. Even though it came right back to her mind as soon as he was gone.

... Life can be a real bitch, can't it?

AUTHORS NOTE: HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED! SORRY IF I LAID ON THE DRAMA TOO THICK. BUT ANYWAY, THANKS FOR READING AND SUPPORTING! SEE YOU ALL NEXT CHAPTER (WHICH IS A LOT LESS DEPRESSING).


	4. Chapter 4

"So when are we gonna meet her?" Tony asked as he plopped beside Clint on the longue couch.

"What?"

"Y'know. When are we gonna meet the little lady? The woman you've been sneaking off to see?"

Clint rolled his eyes. He wasn't about to discuss his new friend with Tony. Partly because Tony was a womanizing, self-centered son of a bitch that would probably just lure Joyce into bed and then kick her out... and partly because he was the kind of asshole who would spread a whole big rumor about them being in a relationship.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Stark."

He nodded, as he knew something Clint didn't. "Oh... I get it."

"Jesus, what now?"

"I mean I get it. She's ugly."

"Dude, fuck you." Clint said.

"Okay, so what is she dumb as a rock?"

"I'm going to stab you in the eye with my arrow while you're sleeping."

Tony crossed his arms. "What happened to shooting arrows, Katniss? Getting lazy?"

The archer gave a him a look like steel daggers.

Tony threw up his hands. "Alright! I just thought you might like to invite her to the Tower."

"Off the subject, Tony."

The "genius" (Yes Clint uses the quotations around that word, even in his head), leaned in. He studied Clint's face. The archer tried to ignore him and focus on the television. But Stark just kept staring him. You know when somebody's looking at you, and you can literally feel their stare burning into you? Yeah. Clint was getting annoyed with this. But he just went on staring at the TV. Don't give in... Ah, fuck it.

"I will lawnmower your balls." Clint said with dead eyes, turning.

"Well somebody needs anger management."

"Yeah, and somebody else needs a padded room and straight jacket."

Stark dragged his finger down his cheek, mimicking a tear. "Why do you hurt me, baby?"

"Because you're a pain in the ass."

"Well at least tell me why you won't tell me about your girl? Wait... oh... is it a guy?"

Clint gave him the middle finger.

"Hey! I got nothing against people like you! Tell me about him. Does he work with you in SHIELD?"

"Leave him alone, Stark." Cap said from behind the men.

The two turned to see the tall blonde standing there, arms crossed.

"Aw man, you're no fun." Stark stood up, putting his hand on his hip and flicking his wrist at the soldier.

Clint shook his head. "And you accuse ME of being gay, you sassy motherfucker?"

"What are you implying?" Tony crossed his arms.

"I'm not implying anything, Tonya. I'm saying you're a fruit cocktail."

"That's insulting! I always thought of myself as a fine champagne."

"... And point proven." Clint said.

Steve put his head in his hand. "Are you two children?"

"... Young at heart?" Tony offered.

The soldier sighed. "I think I'm... I'm just gonna go now."

"Will you take Stark with you?"

"Why would I do that?" He asked.

"Because you're like his babysitter. You change his diaper, give him a time-out, breastfeed him a bit-"

"Yeah, I'm leaving." Steve interrupted, walking backwards towards the elevator.

So Tony and Clint were left alone once again. The two were silent for several minutes before the inventor spoke again. "So... when are we gonna meet her?"

Clint groaned.

"What, you thought I was going to let up on you about that?"

"Kind of, yes."

Tony shook his head. "You should know me better than that."

"Why do you care, anyway?"

He shrugged. "I'm bored. You're the most fun to fuck with."

"Yeah well I'm taking Caps' lead, and leaving. You're just too annoying for my taste."

Clint hopped up, walking over to the elevator. Tony called back: "Aww but I love you!"

"... That's not even funny."

And with that, the archer left.

* * *

Joyce waited in the nice little Italian place Clint agreed to meet her at. They'd exchanged phone numbers, and had been texting quite often. She had donned a nice purple dress, long-sleeved of course. She had put her hair in a bun for this occasion, and silver studs. She hummed quietly to herself, fixing the dark pink lipstick she'd put on earlier.

She's been looking forward to this for a week. Joyce had a rare day off (not without a few ass smacks from the boss) and wanted to spend at least some of it with Clint. She didn't know why, but he really did make her happy.

Besides, she'd had a rough few nights. Before Joyce could even start to dwell, a handsome blonde sat down across from her. He was in a nice gray blazer, pants to match, and a silk blue button up.

"Lookin' good Clint."

"You're not so bad yourself. A lot of purple."

She shrugged. "Yeah, well it IS your color."

"Purple? My color?"

"Yeah. You have purple on your costume, don't you?"

"... Possibly." He replied. "So you wanted to mimic me?"

"No, just sort of... match?"

"Like those asshole couples who dress the same on Halloween?"

Joyce laughed. "Oh God NO!" She took a sip of the complimentary water. "So we're a couple now?"

"Uh..."

Clint wasn't sure how to answer that. The wrong answer could result in a quick slap to the face and ending of whatever this relationship was.

"I'm a... Well... do you want to be?"

"A couple? Well... we've only known each other for a couple weeks. I'm not too keen on rushing into anything."

Clint nodded. That was somewhat of a relief.

"Plus, we'd have to talk about our certainties. And if we found out they didn't uh... work... Then where would we be?"

"Exactly." Well they don't work already, but she didn't have to know that.

"Yeah, it's all very personal. I'm glad you agree. So... we can just be friends for now and... see where it goes?"

Clint, despite feeling bad for not being entirely honest, nodded. They probably wouldn't end up together anyway. It's not like they had a lot of interesting and engaging conversations... wait. Oh. Well it's not as if they got along so well that it'd be a possibility... shit. Uh... Okay, it's not as if they found each other attract... ive.

... Huh.

AUTHORS NOTE: WELL, HOPEFULLY YOU ALL ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER! SEE, TOLD YOU IT'D BE LESS DEPRESSING. THANKS FOR READING AND SUPPORTING!


	5. Chapter 5

_A month Later..._

Joyce trudged across the threshold of her apartment, shutting the door and dismantling her uniform. It had been a long day, as usual. The whispers and stares kept coming. Her boss wanted to fuck her. All the usual bullshit she'd dealt with in this life that she couldn't escape. The woman chose it, after all. Throughout the day, Joyce had kept on that same fucking Everything Is Okay Smile, The I'm Not Ready to Burst Into Tears at Any Moment Smile, The I Don't Know That You're Calling Me A Mental Case Behind My Back Smile. It was something that she'd had to put on ever since... well... since she was fourteen. Even back then nobody felt sympathy. People were afraid of Joyce, thinking she was unhinged. Children avoided her, teachers tip-toed about her, and her parents... Joyce didn't even want to think about it.

And through it all, she kept on that same fucking smile. Just to get through another day. But now, safe in this tiny apartment, Joyce let go of all that and collapsed onto the dirty old couch. It was about 8:00 at night. Joyce hadn't eaten since breakfast. She worked through her lunch break to earn a bit more money. So yeah, it was time for dinner.

Joyce meandered into her kitchen in nothing but a pair of black panties and a sports bra. Well... actually, the kitchen was more of a kitchenette, too small to fit more than two people at a time. It was adjacent to her small living room, left side. On the right was the short hallway to the single bedroom. Some days Joyce missed the two-story house she'd grown up in, light blue and opulent... so many windows.

But that was in the past. She had to stop dwelling on it. Even if it was difficult.

Anyway, back to cooking! Joyce sure as hell wasn't in the mood to start anything too complicated. Maybe just some mac and cheese or something. Raman noodles? Fuck, she didn't know. It was at this point that her phone, which was lying on the counter, vibrated and went "BING!"

A text. She picked up the little device. It was from Clint. Joyce beamed. She hadn't heard from him in a week, he said he had some classified mission. There was that word again. Classified.

_Hey Joyce. How are you doing? Wondering if you'd like to come to Stark Tower for dinner and a movie. _

Eyes widened, Joyce grinned. Clint had never invited her (at least seriously, that thing about annoying Tony had been a joke of course) to the tower. Suddenly it felt as if all her fatigue just vanished.

**Of course I would! I've missed you, Clint. :) Just let me bathe and take a cab up there. **

_Fuck a cab! I'm sending a limo._

That... was a little weird. But hey, who's gonna turn down a free limo?

**uh... Ok. Great. See you when I get there. **

_See ya then, baaaabbyy. :-* _

Okay, that was really weird. Since when did Clint send kissy faces? Maybe he was tired from his mission. Joyce didn't read too much into it. He was back, and she was going to see him. Screw the Ramans! Joyce stripped naked and all but sprinted for the shower.

* * *

"Stark! What did you do with my fucking phone?!" Clint asked as he walked out of the elevator.

* * *

The archer had gotten back from the mission in Moscow a couple hours ago. It had been a rough week, doing absolutely classified things that the agent was NOT at liberty to discuss with anyone.

After taking a much needed shower and unpacking his clothes, Clint went to get his personal cell off out of the nightstand drawer. It was something he always kept at the tower. The assassin wanted to call Joyce, tell her he was okay. Ask how she was. You know, the usual friend shit.

But it was gone. Just. Fucking. Gone. His first thought, automatically, was that one of SHIELD's many enemies had gotten a hold of it and everyone he cared about was in mortal danger. Shit he had to grab his arrows, call Coulson on the agency phone, and get-

Wait, wait, wait. If anyone had taken his cell that was a threat, JARVIS would have alerted him immediately. Okay, crisis averted.

"Jarv?" He asked.

"Yes sir?"

"Who's been in here the past week? Who the hell has authorization to access this floor?"

"Um... I'm so sorry Sir, but I cannot answer that question."

That could only mean one thing. Clint grit his teeth.

"I'm gonna kill that son of a Bitch."

* * *

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about, Cupid."

"Don't play dumb, Stark. I am not in the mood for your games."

Tony shrugged nonchalantly, stepping back a bit towards the bar. Clint couldn't believe this. He knew Tony was an idiot, it wasn't a huge secret, but taking a master assassin's personal property? Full of personal information? Come on, there has to be a limit to the stupidity.

... Actually wait, scratch that. Never mind.

The genius hummed quietly as he went to make himself a scotch. "You seem tense, want a drink?"

Clint crossed his arms. "I want my goddamn phone back."

"You sure you don't want a drink? I'm having one."

"... I'm not afraid to kill a dumbass just because he's famous. I hope you know that."

"Well I still don't know what you're talking about." Sip. "Besides, I'm a lovable dumbass."

"That's debatable." Clint retorted.

Tony pouted out his lower lip. "I'm crushed."

"Good. Now give me my phone before I twist you into a pretzel."

He growled. "Ooh, kinky."

"... There's no way you're straight."

Tony smiled devilishly, shooting the archer a wink. "Is that a proposition, hot stuff?"

"PHONE. NOW."

"For the last time!" Tony exclaimed. "I don't have your ph-"

_Trick or Treat, Sweet to eat, On Halloween and New Years Eve... _

_Yankee Girls you just can't be beat, but they're best, when they're off they're feet!_

_GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS!_

"Give it." Clint demanded, holding out his hand. Tony did so.

He saw it was Joyce calling. He answered immediately. "Joyce! Hi!"

"Hey Clint!"

"Wow uh... I was just about to call you, actually." He said.

"You were? Why? I'm just calling to tell you I'm here."

The archer's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, here?"

"I mean... you- you texted me earlier. Invited me over for dinner and a movie?"

Clints eyes darted over to Tony, who simply stood there with an innocent little grin on his face. The spy held his left index finger up and drug it across his throat in the universal sign for "DEATH".

It's not like Clint didn't want her to come over, not at all. Well... aside from Tony being himself. It's just the fact that this plan was made completely without his knowledge, giving Cint no time to prepare and make the lounge look nice. Plus the archer didn't HAVE any dinner for her. How tasteless was that?!

"Clint?" Worry had creeped into Joyce's voice. It was a really strange, whipped puppy tone.

"Everything's fine! Just fine. Uh... I just haven't gotton dinner ready yet." Eyes back to Tony, giving the 'Have Somebody Make Something Before You Fucking Die' look. "That's why I was gonna call."

Tony smiled, mouthing "Taken Care Of". Clint nodded.

"That's okay. I can wait. See you in a couple minutes?"

"Yep. See ya soon. Bye."

"Bye."

The two hung up. "Why?" Clint asked.

"I told you I wanted to meet her." Tony replied.

"So you stole my phone and invited her over the minute I come home from a mission?!"

He shrugged. "That's the gist of it."

"Get out."

"Of what, this is my tower."

"This room. I don't want you near Joyce." Clint clarified.

"Uh, my room. And no, I want to meet her."

"But why?!"

"Because you've been so hung up on Natashalie that's it a near marvel you've found yourself a new object of affection. And I want to see what she did to break this spell." He explained.

"Why do you care?"

"... I'm not as heartless of a bastard as I make myself out to be. Despite popular belief, I DO give a damn about the people I work with. And I've been a bit worried about you, man. Besides, I consider you... Well... a friend of sorts."

That kind of shocked Clint, to be honest. No sarcasm? No smartass remark? Just sincerity and a kind tone of voice? This just didn't seem right. And yet here it was, right before his eyes.

"Well, thanks Tony."

"Yeah, well, you're still only like... number 8 on my list of friends. Right after Couslon. You've surpassed Steve though, so good job on that one."

... Aaaannd there was the real Tony. Clint didn't mind so much, at least not right now. Stark just didn't really... do emotions well. Any sincerity had to be sandwiched between sarcasm and smartassery.

"Where does this list of yours end?"

"About 12."

"And where does Steve lie at?"

"I don't know, 15. He just barely edged in there before Fury."

"...You're a very strange person."

"And your date is here." Stark stated, pointing in the direction of the elevator.

Joyce walked out in dark red leggings with a flowing white blouse that billowed around her round hips. All her ebony hair was pinned in a messy bun, barely taming the thick locks. A few of her curls popped out around the edge of the hairtie.

Her lips matched the leggings, a deep, beautiful red. As she drew closer, Clint saw the very light eyeshadow surrounding those big blue eyes of hers. For a moment, the archer didn't know what to do with himself. She was lovely. But, of course, after remembering his Certainty, Clint shook it off.

But before he could do anything else, the lovely woman had her arms around him, embracing. Clint hesitantly squeezed back, tenderly holding Joyce's hips.

"I missed you." She said honestly. "Funny thing about having a secret agent for a best friend. I couldn't be sure you'd be coming back alive until I saw you."

Clint smiled into her hair, which was just at eye level. "Missed you too, Joyce."

"Ahem." An annoying prick called from behind. The two broke apart.

"If you both are done with this awkward dance of sexual tension, it would be great if I could greet the lady."

Joyce sauntered over to the bar, holding out her hand. "Joyce. Joyce Rivers."

Tony, seeing an opportunity to annoy Clint, tenderly held the tips of her fingers and kissed the back of her hand. "You know who I am, obviously. So, Joyce, tell me... what's a fine little feature like yourself doing, dating our resident Hunger Games reject?"

"Watch it Stark." Clint warned. "You might not like it if I demonstrated my skills all over your lab. All that delicate equipment..."

"And we'll see how you like not having a place to stay."

Joyce smacked his arm. "And we'll see how YOU feel with a high heel shoved right up your ass."

"Ooh, feisty. I see why Clint takes an interest."

"And furthermore," she continued, ignoring that. "We're not dating."

Tony shook his head. "Denial, denial. We'll see about that after somebody walks in on you two having sex on my couch."

"Stark." Clint said.

"Yes?"

"Go."

"Alright, alright. Geez, sensitive aren't we?"

"Leave." He commanded.

Throwing up his hands, the genius backed up to the elevator. "And clean off the cushions if you get your cum spots all over them." He said before the doors closed.

Clint put his face into his hands. "Ugh... I'm sorry for that. He can be an insensitive prick."

"Trust me, it's not the first time I've dealt with guys like that."

"Still... He should know better."

Joyce shrugged. "So he thinks we're dating?"

"Yep."

"That explains the texts." She mumbled.

"What do you mean?"

"Since when do you call me baby?"

The archer groaned. "That asshole. I should've known he'd give it away like that."

"I assume he stole your phone?" Joyce asked.

"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Then why did you lie about... you know... knowing that I was coming over?"

Clint sighed. "Well you were already here, I'd feel like a dick if I just rescinded the invitation. Besides, you were going to come over at some point."

Joyce smiled. "That's sweet. So... No dinner then?"

"Well, Tony said he had that taken care of, so-"

Just then, a man came in, rolling a cart. There were two plates, each baring a large steak and whipped potatoes. He set each plate down on the table in front of the couch, then returned to retrieve two elegant crystal glasses, a bottle of wine, and a tall candle.

The man poured the wine, lit said candle, and left. And, as if on cue, the lights dimmed. A soft, romantic music played in the background.

Clint was about ready to bang his head against the wall. Damn you, Stark.

AUTHORS NOTE: HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THE CHAPTER! THANKS SO SO MUCH FOR READING AND SUPPORTING! SEE YOU ALL NEXT CHAPTER!


	6. Chapter 6

After an especially awkward dinner, during which Clint planned many spectacular deaths for Stark, the two were deciding what movie to watch. Tony, being the billionaire bachelor (well former bachelor) he was, had a massive collection. In fact, the man had an entire data file specifically dedicated to movies, and were accessible by way of his holographic display panel.

"How about "A Few Good Men?"" Suggested Clint. "It's really good. Plus it's the source of one of the most famous movie quotes ever."

Joyce shrugged. "It's good, but I'm not really in the mood for a serious wartime flick. How about something a little more... fun?"

"Such as?"

The dark haired woman thought. "Jurrassic Park? It's one of those movies everybody can enjoy."

"Well..." Clint started. "I have a problem with that one."

"Clint Barton, if you are about to tell me you don't like Jurrasic Park, I swear to God I will never speak to you again."

He shook his head. "No, no. I love it. It's just..."

"What?"

"It's got that stuttering, human Praying Mathis Jeff Goldblum in it." The archer explained.

"Hey, that's not cool, man." Joyce exclaimed. "What'd he ever do to you?"

"I'm sorry! He just creeps me out. Those fucking eyes... yeesh. And he twitches... he's like a bug."

"Don't hate on the Goldblum, man. He was really hot back in the day."

Clint shook his head. "Never mind, never mind. How's Mission Impossible sound?"

Joyce sighed. "Stop picking movies starring Tom Cruise! He's such an asshole... and he's got the mind of a soggy fruit loop."

"Fair enough." Clint agreed. "What about something more recent?"

Joyce smiled. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Uh.. Not sure. Avatar?"

"Mmm... blue rabbit fucking." Joyce replied, trying and failing to fake being turned on.

This just made her blonde companion laugh. "I was talking about the one adapted from the tv show. The other Avatar. But I'm liking the way you think."

"M. Night Shamamamamaylan fucked that movie all to hell."

Clint gave a small smile to that pronunciation. "Okay, we have to agree on something. We're going with recent movies, right?"

"Right." Confirmed Joyce.

"Maybe... uh... Gravity?"

"And throw up my delicious steak? Never! How about that Hunger Games thing?"

Clint did not respond for a minute, before whispering dramatically: "Why do you hurt me in this way?"

Joyce scooted over to him, pouting out her lip. Clint wasn't entirely sure what she was about to do next. He froze, heart beginning to speed up. Was she about to-

And then suddenly she pinched the fat of his cheek. "Aww... did I hurt the little assassin's feelings?"

... Oh. Well that was... anticlimactic.

"No." He said, recovering. "Let's uh... What about American Hustle? I've heard it's interesting. And has a lot of... hair comedy. I've never seen it, but... it's an option."

"Sure. Why not. Put it up on the screen thingy."

"Holographic display panel." Clint corrected.

"Science mumbo jumbo. Movie time!" She dismissed, giving Clint a wide grin.

The archer found that strangely cute. Her teeth showed, all white and snowy. The way her mouth smiled around them was slightly crooked, almost like somebody put extra muscles into the right side of her face so it leaned.

He'd never noticed that.

Quickly he shook it off, turning the screen and typing in the title. After about ten seconds it appeared, so Clint pressed the "watch" option and took his place beside Joyce.

As it began, the two saw Christian Bale with a freaking comb over. Joyce was already giggling. Then there was some other guy, Clint couldn't remember the name...with a perm. He could already tell this was going to be interesting. They were going to meet this politician, it appeared to be a sting operation.

Clint wasn't paying much attention. His eyes, for some reason, kept wandering back to his female companion. She was leaning back against the couch, legs firmly crossed. Joyce's eyes were sparkling with delight. Clint couldn't seem to look away. And then...

"Ahahahaha!" She suddenly began laughing hysterically, pointing at the screen.

He followed her arm, to see... Oh God.

"You're Jeremy Renner's freaking doppelganger!" She managed to sputter. "It's like if you grew a cartoon-y seventies pomp!"

For the second time that evening, Clint Barton wanted to bang his head against a wall. He should've watched it before suggesting it.

Joyce continued laughing, but managed to speak more clearly. "Wait a minute! Wait a minute! So there's a guy who looks just like you, a movie star no less, with a wig. Do you know what that means?"

"I fear the answer." Clint groaned.

"You're a male Hannah Montana!" She fell back into laughter, this time falling onto her back. "Except without... haha... the twerking!"

The agent couldn't help but smile at how amused she was by this. Joyce snorted when she laughed, but only when she laughed really really hard. And Clint found it oddly charming.

"Unless... You're... undercover! Is that it, you secret movie star?!"

"You caught me." He said, grinning.

She suddenly righted herself and pounced him. Now Clint was lying on his back, Joyce on top with her hands clinging to his shirt.

"Where are you keeping your wig? And the acting money?"

Playing along, the archer held up his hands and feigned fright. "I swear it's in the safe! Don't hurt me! I'm innocent!"

Joyce laughed on his chest, heaving. The archer below was suddenly very still. She was... She was kinda close. Her lips were sort of grazing his neck and her breasts were sort of pressed against him. And he was sort of... enjoying it. In a really uncomfortable way. The woman seemed to notice this, and stopped. This was a very odd position. A really really awkward and odd position.

"Uh..."

"I'll uh just..." Joyce removed herself from Clint.

"Can we agree to never put ourselves into vaguely sexual positions like that again?" Clint asked.

"Yeah. And not mention this one."

"Agreed."

Clint shifted his legs, firmly crossing them. Both kept their eyes glued to the screen. Yeah... that was not something to be repeated. At least nobody else had know about that, right?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: THANKS FOR READING AND SUPPORTING! HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED! SEE YOU NEXT CHAPTER! :D


	7. Chapter 7

Joyce and Clint had fallen asleep on the couch about three quarters of the way through the movie. It wasn't because it was boring, not at all. It was just... Well... both had had a really long day. Clint was still dealing with jet-lag from the mission, Joyce had been up since the freaking crack of dawn... it was natural to fall asleep.

Jarvis had automatically turned the holographic display panel off after the two were out cold. They'd basically slept head-to-head, their feet pointing in opposite directions while their hair mingled. Neither of them dreamed.

The archer woke up first, he had heard the sound of Joyce's phone giving a little "bleep-bleep- Buzz Buzz" noise. Clint, after spending the night in hostile territory for years, had grown to become a light sleeper. His eyes opened, and he felt the tickle of Joyce's curls on his scalp.

She did not awaken. Slowly, Clint sat up. Her phone was sitting on the coffee table, and the screen was lit up. Now, just because he was a secret agent, it didn't mean that Clint Barton was a snoop.

Prying into somebody's phone was an asshole move. And he would have woken her up, had it not been for the first word he saw (the text was displayed on the home screen).

And that word was "BITCH!"

Quietly unlocking the phone, he read it. It said that it was from "Boss". Boss? Her boss? He knew she was a waitress, but had never been to the diner. Why did he have her cell number? Well she must have put in on her resume, that'd make sense.

"BITCH! IT'S NINE FUCKING THIRTY! YOU'RE OVER THREE HOURS LATE! THOSE FLOORS, THE DISHES, ALL NEED TO BE DONE! AND THOSE TABLES AREN'T GOING TO WAIT THEMSELVES, LAZY CUNT! YOU KNOW I HAVE A ZERO-DAY LATENESS POLICY.

... Although, if you really want to keep this job, you could put that pretty little mouth of yours to work. Or that fine ass. Be here first thing tomorrow ready to be begging on your knees for me or you're fired!"

Clint looked over to the sleeping woman by his side. His friend. She was so kind, and very peaceful as she slept. A bubbly young woman, full of energy and life. He thought back to last night. How she wrapped her arms around him, embracing as if he was going to disappear. It made him feel warm, cared for. She'd missed him, was worried about him. Suddenly the archer was very, very pissed off. Any man who spoke that way, especially to women as sweet as Joyce, deserved to be thrown off the Helicarrier with no parachute.

Taking the phone so he could show this to Coulson, he snuck off. This just crossed the fucking line. And he was out for blood.

* * *

"Excuse me." A voice said quietly, shaking Joyce by the shoulder.

The woman yawned, eyes opening only Half-way. Interesting thing about Joyce, she took a minute to wake up. The time between wakefulness and slumber could be considered to be the oddest moments of Joyce's personality. Being half-asleep brought out some weird behavior.

She turned her head towards the person waking her up. A man, medium height. Glasses. She sat up.

"Hiii." She said.

"Who are you? What are you- why are you on the couch?"

She looked about aimlessly for a minute. "Clint... where?"

"You're the woman Tony's been talking about? Client's friend?"

"Yeah. M'names Joyce."

With her swimming mind, Joyce didn't have much coordination. She stood up, walked into a wall, and stumbled into the man. She giggled.

"You have fluffy hair." She mumbled, leaning against him.

"Uh... Yeah. Do you need some coffee?"

"Starbucks! Clint... frappachino."

Bruce was perplexed at this odd woman. Tenderly, he pulled her back and set her on the couch again.

"I'm going to make some coffee. You uh... You wait here."

"Okay fluffy!" She replied.

The doctor went into the kitchen, while Joyce slowly began to wake up. Where did Clint go? And furthermore, why? Couldn't he have woken her up first? And also... wait, where was her phone?

"Here you go." Bruce said, placing a steaming hot cup of coffee in front of her.

"Thanks." She said, shooting him a groggy little smile. "What's your name?"

"I'm Bruce Banner. The uh... I'm a doctor."

Joyce suddenly grew wary and alert. She had a deep distrust of doctors. Or at least, certain kinds. She didn't want him to see her nervous, so she tried to play it off with some casual conversation.

"Oh, are you the one dealing with Tony's problems?"

He laughed. "No, no. There aren't enough psychologists in the world for that one. And I'm not that kind of doctor."

The lovely woman relaxed. That was good. He wasn't the kind of doctor who she was worried about.

"So you're like the Avengers private physician?"

"Amongst other things." He said this with a hint of bitterness, and his eyes grew depressed for a moment.

Joyce knew that feeling all too well. So she played it off as humor.

"That must be exhausting. A whole team of people who fight off bad guys every other week? I'm sorry for you, doc."

"Yeah. It's interesting work, though."

Joyce took a deep drink of her beverage. "So, do you know where Clint ran off too?"

"Well I saw him in the hallway a few minutes ago, he looked pretty upset. But he took the elevator down before I could say anything." Bruce explained.

Joyce's face read confusion. "Upset?"

"He was grumbling angrily at his phone-"

"Phone?"

She looked at the coffee table, where her cell was supposed to be. Then Joyce looked out the window at the bright Sun. She was supposed to be at work right now. Her boss-

"Oh no." Joyce whispered.

"What?"

"Oh God. Oh God he's... He must have... Oh God!"

She stood up. This was bad. This was so, so bad. If she knew her boss, anything he'd said couldn't have been respectful... or decent. Without another word, she ran for the elevator.

AUTHORS NOTE: HOPE THIS WAS GOOD! THANKS FOR READING AND SUPPORTING!


	8. Chapter 8

Joyce was running, sprinting, down the street. Oh God this was bad. This was so so bad. She was going to lose her job! Clint was going to do something awful... it made her shudder just imagining the consequences. It wasn't as if her boss didn't deserve a good ass-beating, quite the contrary actually, but... She needed the money damn it!

How else was she going to pay the bills? With her... secret... Not many employers are willing to hire her, especially after seeing Joyce's institu- No, no. No time to be feeling pity for herself.

Joyce knew she'd never catch a cab, not while the traffic was this heavy. So she continued running, against all logic.

The main goal was to stop Clint. But, wait. Wait just a fucking minute. What was she supposed to do? What could she possibly say to him without revealing her little conundrum? Shit. Shit! Well she'd have to think of something. Because Joyce couldn't afford to lose her waitressing position.

* * *

Coulson and Clint quietly, calmly, entered the diner. It was small, with a sort of Fifties atmosphere to it. The tiles were black-white checkerboard, while all the seats and booths were red-upholstered. All the tables were metallic, chrome. A cute little place quite frankly. It was called "Jimmy's".

A young woman with bouncy blonde hair and a polite smile approached them.

"What can I do for you two gentlemen?"

Coulson was the one who answered. Clint was so full of anger that speech was near out of the question. The archer feared he'd resort to extreme physical violence, and he couldn't do that. Yet.

"Good morning ma'am." Coulson said cordially. "We're here to talk to your manager. A Mr. Jimson, is it?"

Her smile faded quite rapidly. "Uh... might I ask what for?"

"We're here on behalf of an anonymous complaint about sexual harassment."

"You guys are like the police or something?"

The two agents exchanged glances. "Yes. Something like that. Now will you please fetch him?"

There was underlying commanding tone to Agent Coulson's voice, and it made her immediately turn to get him. The older man had agreed wholeheartedly to this intervention. He'd worked for decades, and seen the way men treated women evolve over time. He'd been guilty of a few less than professional remarks about certain busty co-workers, but never to their face and always made in a passing comment.

But if there was one thing Coulson couldn't stand, it was blatant and complete disrespect of an employee. Especially a woman. Not because women are weak or anything, it was quite the opposite. They're strong. And to say such awful things to any body, man or woman, is worthy of the treatment that was about to befall the poor bastard.

A tall man approached the duo. He was somewhere in his mid-thirties, dark haired, and... handsome. This came as a bit of a shock for both Clint and Coulson. It was only natural to expect somebody overweight, greasy, unshaven. Your typical disgusting pervert.

But it didn't really matter what he looked like. A sexist asshole was a sexist asshole, no matter which way you slice it.

"Mr. Jimson?" Clint asked.

"Yeah?"

"We're here on behalf of one of your employees."

He crossed his arms. "Who?"

"That's none of your concern. Just know we have badges, we have authority, and your actions towards your waitresses is illegal." Coulson threatened.

The restaurant owner smiled. "Prove it."

The two agents looked at one another. Clint and Coulson were on the same mental wavelength at this point, and came to a consensus. After exchanging a nod, the two grabbed him by his arms, and put them behind his back.

"What the Hell do think you assholes are doing?!"

"Arresting you for sexual assault, harassment, and resisting arrest."

"I'm not resisting SHIT! I want a lawyer motherfuckers!" He yelled, struggling against the men.

With devious smiles, the agents dragged Jimson out of the diner and into the parking lot. Clint let go, allowing Coulson to twist his arm over the shoulder.

"Who are you people?!" He shouted through his tears of physical pain.

Dragging him over to the car, Coulson pinned him to the hood. "Clint! Get your interrogation devices!"

The archer smiled. "With pleasure."

He opened the trunk, taking out his bow and arrows. He loaded his bow with a very special, very illegal arrow. It was equipped with miniature hooks along the tip, which were designed to clamp into whatever their target was. The hooks were also poisonous.

Coulson had flipped Jimson over, and had him splayed out across the hood. Arms above his head, on his back. When the archer approached, he aimed the pointy, oh so pointy arrow, right between Jimson's legs.

The owners face turned white.

"Oh no, oh no no no no, please. I'll do anything you want, man! Just... don't do what you're thinking about doing!"

Clint grinned. "Anything?"

"Yes!"

"Alright." He lowered the bow a tiny bit. "You know Joyce Rivers? The woman you've been harassing? Making her do all the extra work?"

He nodded fervently.

"Okay, good. You will pay her for every cent of overtime she put in. You will then compensate for all the sexual remarks and actions you've made towards her."

"H-how much?" He asked.

"Hmm... How long has she been working for you?"

"F-f-four years."

"Then $40,000."

"What?!"

Clint pointed the arrow again.

"Okay okay! I'll pay!"

"Once you've paid her, you will lay her off. But you will recommend her to a more recuitible establishment, and for a higher position. After this you will never contact her again."

He gulped.

"And if you fail to complete any of these actions, which believe me I will know about it..."

Clint pressed the tip of the arrow right to his crotch, letting it poke just enough to hurt.

"Do I make myself clear?"

The bastard was crying now. He nodded.

"Good boy."

Coulson let Jimson go. He scrambled to his feet, shaking and terrified. His dark eyes were wild and widened with fear.

"Have a nice day." Coulson said, politely smiling.

The two agents walked off quietly into the morning.

AUTHORS NOTE: THANKS FOR READING AND SUPPORTING THE STORY SO FAR! HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED! :)


	9. Chapter 9

She held the wad of bills in her hands numbly. Running her fingers across the paper, it still didn't seem real. The sound of them, crisp and new, was intoxicating. Maybe this was a dream. But... it was $44,000. $44,000. $44,000! Jesus Christ on a cracker, that was fourth-four thousand fucking dollars. Joyce had never been in possession of that amount of money in her life!

And she was starting her new job at Houston's, a high-end steak place, in a week. Joyce set the money down, putting her hands over her mouth. Oh God. This was too much. Too good to be true.

This was when the tears started to flow. Her vision became blurred, fractured as she began to cry. Not out of sadness, but out of gratitude. Gratitude and joy. This shouldn't have happened, by all rational thinking. And of course with Joyce's streak of luck, it should have been an impossibility. But it wasn't, and it was because of one person.

Clint Barton.

* * *

It was yesterday that this miracle occurred. Joyce had gotten to the diner, breathless and terrified. Oh God this was the end of her. She'd lose this job, for sure. And then her apartment. And then everything she owned.

In the diner, all the patrons and waitresses stared at her. This wasn't unusual, at least when it was her co-workers. But this time it wasn't because of her secret. It was because of the boss coming in and sprinting to his office, screaming for somebody to call Joyce.

The woman entered the office hesitantly, her body tense. Joyce prepared for the worst.

Jimson was sitting at his desk, his face pale and clammy. She approached him, careful of every step. Those eyes of his were fixed on her. Like he was afraid of her. As soon as Joyce got to the desk, Mr. Jimson held out the magical thing now lying on her coffee table as hundred dollar bills. His hands were shaking.

"Take it."

She did so. Looking at the amount, her jaw dropped. Her mouth couldn't form words. That was fourty-four grand.

"Wh- why... is this... Am I..."

"Compnesation. Plus overtime. Plus severance."

"So I AM fired?" Joyce asked, obviously knowing the answer.

Jimson suddenly grabbed a pen, and wrote furiously on one of the many sticky notepads he kept on his desk. As soon as he was done, Jimson slid the paper over to her. Joyce picked it up.

_31098 Brooklyn Ave. Be there at 3:00 PM sharp next Monday. _

"I got you a job at Houston's. Fancy steak place." He said. "Now leave. Just... leave."

Barely able to think, Joyce left the office, walked out of the diner, and took a cab to the bank.

* * *

Now here she was, Joyce. God there was so much she could do with the money. Get a bigger place. Buy something for Clint, definitely. Do something about her problem. Maybe there was a surgery? No... No... that was a dumb thought. Uh... Oh God there was just so much money. Besides there better things to spend her money on.

But... Jesus. Oh God. Oh God.

Joyce took three hundred dollar bills and folded them in her wallet. This was for Clint. She needed to see him. Thank him. God, she could... Well...

Never mind. She placed the rest of the money in a small safe, put the safe at the bottom of her dirty laundry hamper, and stuffed the hamper into the back of her closet. Joyce ran out, down the many flights of stairs to the ground floor, and once again, hailed a cab. Only this time to the tower.

* * *

Clint found himself being attacked. One minute he was sitting at the bar with Bruce, discussing what happened yesterday and why, the next there was somebody wrapped around him. Arms squeezed his shoulders while a flurry of black hair blocked his vision.

It was Joyce, he knew that much. She pulled away, but before Clint could say anything, she was kissing him. All over his face. Forehead, eyebrows, eyelids, nose, chin, cheeks, temples, even his hair. Everywhere but the lips. These kisses left saliva all over the archer, but he didn't mind. It was sweet.

"Thank you thank you THANK YOU!" Joyce breathed put.

Bruce cleared his throat. Embarrassed, she turned. Her cheeks were red.

"Hi." He said.

"Sorry Bruce."

"Eh, I've seen worse things than that."

"Understood, Doctor man."

Joyce turned back to Clint. "Sorry I slobbered on you in front of the team physician."

"It's okay. I'm not worried. It's Tony we have to watch for."

She smiled. "Thank you, again. You're an angel."

Behind them, Bruce began to chuckle. "Yeah. Right. Angel. Do you even know what this guy did to your boss?"

"What'd he do?" Joyce asked.

"Had him held down and then pressed a pointy, poisoned, grappling arrow to his crotch. Threatened to shoot if he didn't give you compensation money. Even the other guy felt his junk retract."

She raised an eyebrow. "The other guy?"

"You don't know who this is?" Clint asked, shocked.

"The staff doctor?"

"Well that too. Joyce this is the Hulk! Or the man who turns into him."

Her jaw dropped. "Really?"

The curly haired man gave her a small, bitter smile. "Guilty as charged."

"But you seem so normal. I didn't think the Hulk... I never saw footage of the big green guy turning into... Well YOU!" She paused. "I feel like this is not coming out as I intended. I apologize."

He shrugged. "Doesn't bother me. Learn something new every day. I turn into an enormous green rage monster, your boyfriend shoots guys in the dick with his arrows."

"He's not my..." and then she remembered the original topic of conversation. "Wait, you did what?"

Joyce had been so distracted by the new information she'd learned to retain the main point.

"Yeah. I almost killed your boss with an arrow to his crotch. Didn't shoot. Just threatened. Something tells me he'll never harass a woman again. Things like that tend to... dissuade from that sort of behavior."

Joyce looked at him for several moments.

"Can I take you out to dinner, Clint Barton?"

AUTHORS NOTE: HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED SO FAR! THANKS FOR READING AND SUPPORTING!


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